In memory of Betty Ready (full of spaghetti) in paradise

1.

this was your rhyme.

this is what they gave to you,

those of your kind from the corner

of Bedford and Stinziano, which in time

would be passed down to me and those of my kind.

your hair, I recall, was red as a simmering marinara!

hence, the rhyme from both your names, and what

two names cobbled as they are would serve you better?

Betty Ready Full of Spaghetti:

did you see it back then, graced by the active

romance of your youth?

was it clear to you from the inside, the deep

affection of a nickname which spoke to only you?

your friend, my sister, informed me of your death

in 1993 after your fierce battle with demon cancer, and it was then

that the seed of this poem was planted in my brain,––

I guess,–– but as with most of my sister's friends I knew you

only from afar, and it's taken its own wealth of time to surface,

and I'd wish for you now a far better poet,–– but 

2.

you're Irish in the eyes of your father as he stands in astonishment

from behind the viewing glass.

you're Italian as they place you in your young mother's arms,

and as you'd discover dearly along your journey in life,

it's all about time, Betty Ready (full of spaghetti)–– and so

now you're here.

1940 / 1993. Quequechan